You Make Me Sing
by meetmeinstlouie
Summary: "And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times/It's you, it's you, you make me sing./You're every line, you're every word, you're everything." Inspired by the song "Everything" by Michael Buble. A companion to "A Lifelong Love Letter". One shot.


**A/N: This is a companion to "A Lifelong Love Letter", and is inspired by the song "Everything" by Michael Buble. Carson's POV.**

The only time in my life that I ever saw a falling star was the first night I _saw_ her. It was the twentieth of April, 1910. The night Halley's Comet streaked across the sky.

We had been working together for years. We were friendly, but that was as far as it went. As far as I was concerned, she was a very capable housekeeper. A comrade in arms Downstairs. Someone on whom I could rely.

I was an old booby.

She said that night how fortunate we all were, to see something so rare. It occurred to me then that _she_ was the rare one. Someone who comes along once in a lifetime.

But I did not show it. I showed nothing for years afterward.

I used every word but love in my own mind. She was the one who drew the line when my oafishness took me too far... _until you and the blessed Lady Mary come down from that cloud and join the human race!_ She was the one who kept the house going when I broke under the strain, and again when the Spanish Flu struck. I never would have admitted it, but I depended on her. Depended on being able to say "Mrs. Hughes..." fifty times a day knowing that I would hear her lovely Scottish lilt answering back.

She teases me about it now. She says that I'd better enjoy saying her present name before it is retired. Mercifully, for my sake she keeps a professional facade in front of the staff. I, who prided myself on always maintaining standards at Downton, have found it much more difficult to keep my emotions in check since our engagement. She pretends not to know what her smile does to me. She knows well enough to keep our loving looks for our evening sherry. If ever I had thrown a coin into a wishing well, I could not have wished for a better woman.

The time that we have lost due to my own foolishness saddens me. She tells me not to fuss, that it does no good to look back with regret. That what we have now is what matters.

I apologize for the years she spent alone. That she suffered from the fear of illness, and possible death, thinking that I would think her weak. I wish she could have shared Becky with someone else, even if it had been Mrs. Patmore instead of me. She says that she shares her sister now, and at any rate, such is the burden of a woman of mystery. I think she will always remain something of a mystery to me. I confess to her that in our first years together, she flummoxed me enough to make me wonder if she came from a different planet, instead of Scotland. She laughs at me. I think she enjoys this freedom in our life together, but I don't mind, as I once would have.

We have lived through such tumultuous times. From the _Titanic_ disaster, through the war, from young William's death and Mr. and Mrs. Bates' troubles, to the losses of Lady Sybil and Mr. Crawley, it has been her who has been my rock. I can tell her now, what I could not before, that I was relieved when Mr. Carlisle showed himself to be unworthy. I did not want to leave Downton. In truth, I did not want to leave Downton's housekeeper. She is the only woman who has ever moved me to sing. _I do want to be stuck with you_.

I was a young man once. Such thoughts and feelings that I struggle with now I thought were in the past. Every nerve in my body seems to be lit up inside. She told me once to _"Go on, ring that gong."_ How could she know that she rings the bell in my heart? Elsie has always been so proper, so _just-so._

The first time I asked if I could kiss her, I half-expected her to recoil. I needn't have worried. The feel of her hands on my chest, her fingers twisting through my hair at the end of a long day, the soft press of her lips on mine have gotten me through the days and weeks before our marriage.

Every line, every word that Mr. Travis has me repeat in church that day feels as if it was written for us alone. I have sat through many weddings, but my own fills me with a joy that I cannot express. Her eyes, with a hint of a tear in them, gazing into mine. Whatever comes our way in the future, we will face it together.

She is amazing, my Elsie, my wife. My _wife_. I cannot believe that I am her husband, that I can wrap my arms around her and kiss her neck in the middle of the day. Even more so that when I do, she breathes my Christian name and pulls my hand up to her bosom. That she leaves the sewing she's doing for Anna's little one and leads me upstairs.

She still wears the corset. I tell her, frustrated, that she should wear something more modern. She laughs throatily at this, and reminds me that she will. As soon as _I_ learn to use the toaster properly. Her laughter turns to sighs when my fingers unhook that demon garment and my lips and hands dance below her collarbone-and we move together again.

 _I love you._

 _You're every song, and I sing along...you're my everything._


End file.
